“Come, Judith, if you are afraid to go alone, I will attend you with pleasure,” said Miss Conyers, kindly.
But just as she spoke Justin Rosenthal opened the door and entered the room.
“I have come to explain to you how I happened to bring this man home,” he said.
Before Britomarte could answer, another thunderbolt fell, seeming to shake the very island from its foundation. When the noise of the report had rolled away, Justin repeated his words, and Britomarte answered:
“Oh, Justin! as if the humane act of bringing a wretched man in out of a storm like this required any explanation among Christians.”
“But has it not occurred to you that I might have put him into one of the caverns?”
“Perhaps you came upon him at some distance from the mountain.”
“Yes, that was just the case. I met him near the house, just before I met Judith. He was wet to the skin, shivering with cold, and tottering with weakness. I think that he is very ill. I have brought him in, taken off his fetters and his wet garments, and given him a change of dry clothes and put him on my bed.”
“You did right, dear Justin, quite right. I could not like you if you could treat even a bad man badly,” said Miss Conyers.
“Sure the wicked should be thrated according to their wickedness,” put in Judith.